He felt a burst of anxiety but told himself to calm down. Helena was probably close by or running a little late. He texted her on WhatsApp, and then tried calling to no avail. The number rang for a while, and then cut off sharply. He was wondering what to do next when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Gordon turned to find a smallish man with a luminous smile. “Please, are you Mr. Tilson?” he said.

“Yes, I am.”

“Welcome, welcome to Ghana. My name is Robert. I’m here to take you to Kempinski Hotel. You walked past me up at the meeting point, but I saw you searching around and guessed it might be you.”

“Oh, yes,” Gordon said, blanking for a moment. He had forgotten he had given his flight information to the hotel. “Thank you. Actually, I was expecting someone to pick me up.”

“Please, someone?”

“Well, she’s a friend,” Gordon stammered, still looking around for Helena. He felt disoriented.

“Oh,” Robert said, thrown off course. “Will you prefer to wait for her?”

Gordon reasoned he’d better take the shuttle. He could always reach Helena later. Anyway, she was late, not him. He realized he was irritated. “No, it’s fine,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”

“Good, sir. Let me take your bags,” Robert said, grabbing Gordon’s luggage. “This way, please.”

Leaving the arrivals hall to the parking lot nearby, Gordon walked alongside Robert, who made small conversation about the trip. The vehicle was a light blue van with the Kempinski logo on the side. Robert loaded the luggage into the trunk. Gordon got into the van to join two passengers—both white—who were already there.

As they drove away from the airport with its brand-new road signs and branching exits, Gordon noted the cluster of high-rises changing the cityscape. Like ungainly giant birds, cranes dotted the horizon. Nothing in his recollection of Accra was here. Nothing appeared familiar. Nor did he recall the giant billboards at the sides of the road—ads for phones, luxury apartments, fancy clothing. Billboard hell, Gordon thought.

They were in the heart of morning rush hour with traffic at a crawl, giving the itinerant vendors their chance to sell the day’s newspapers, shoes, world maps, puppies, cold drinks, ice cream, home tools, and cheap Chinese trinkets. The traders moved easily within the dense lines of cars.

Thoughts of Helena shifted Gordon’s focus away from the bustle around him. For the first time, an out-of-body why are you here? sense filled him, and his mind cast back, annoyingly, to Derek’s warnings. Once again, he texted Helena, but it was as if his message disappeared into a void.

Only these doubts prevented Gordon from wholeheartedly enjoying the magnificence of the Kempinski lobby, which had marble floors and a towering ceiling suspending a giant chandelier from its center. After checking in, a bellboy took his luggage up.

His room was just as lovely—polished wood floors, cappuccino-colored closets, and a capacious bathroom. He might even use the bidet, he thought absently and with some humor.